Introspective
by Loyal Lotus
Summary: "He had grown up a slave. He had decided it was better to be dead than a slave." Vader thinks back to the life of Anakin Skywalker and tries to realize just when he realized his life wasn't valuable.


He hasn't seen his face. He has never looked at the distorted, scarred features, the absence of bronze curls on the top of his head and framing his face. He knows that his eyes are no longer blue. There are times where he forgets, where he unconsciously assumes that his eyes are blue until he looks into the ominous citrine eyes of his master.

He knows that the men he controls consider him to be inhuman. He can feel their panic and displeasure in the Force when he's present. They're unsure of how to react, how to treat him, what to say. His presence is so overwhelming—a looming black figure with hissing breaths and a metallic face. He's a creature of nightmares, an omen of death, a reaper with a glowing sword of plasma and a mystical sense. At first the transformation terrified him, he would have rather died in the volcanic valley of Mustafar, but he has grown to accept what is and tries not to think of what remains under his suit.

Most of all, he tries not to think of what was. He tries not to think about how her fingers used to grace his skin, running through his tangled locks. He tries not to think about the feeling of another holding his hand, he tries not to think about the ruggedly handsome Jedi Knight that served as a poster boy for a war effort he didn't want to lead.

He hears a familiar voice in his mind, in the Force. A voice that once sang him to sleep and told him he was safe even though he knew he wasn't.

 _"_ _Don't look back."_ It tells him.

Suddenly he finds himself standing in front of their simple hut, carrying a small bag on his back with what little belongings he had hoarded and hidden from Watto. He looked to the two Jedi, the older one smiling and offering him a hand, the younger one slightly scowling. Startled, unsure of his future, of what to do. He turned and looked back to his mom. He tried not to show it, but he was so close to running back to her, pressing his face into her skirt and holding on for dear life.

She saw the terror on his face and before the tears in his eyes could fall, she closed the space in between them and knelt. "Oh, Ani." She said with a small smile, she brushed her hand through his blond hair. She pulled him in for a hug, he was too scared, too shocked to hug her back. "We'll see each other again." Her smile brightening. She squeezed him close. "I love you. I'll miss you so much, but you have to be brave, Ani."

"Can't you come with?" He asked when he finally found his voice, his voice was small, shaking with fear. That's when he realized how bad he was shaking, that there were tears in his eyes.

"My place is here, Ani. You have to do what your heart tells you." She blinked away the tears that were in her eyes. She was always hiding her tears from him, but he knew better. He had woken up so many nights to her sobs and wails even those muffled by pillows and blankets. "What does your heart tell you, Ani?"

He paused for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to understand what his heart was telling him. He didn't understand it then that his heart was the Force, that the Force had lined him up for a life as a Jedi and his eventual fall and rebirth as a Sith. He remembered how his voice cracked with a small sob. "You promise I won't be gone long?" He asked, letting the sob shake through his shoulders.

Her smile slightly faded, "Yes."

He nodded and finally found enough courage to hug her, hiding his face in her dress and her bushy dark hair. He breathed her in, trying to remember her scent, the scent of home. He would be back soon, but he didn't want to forget just in case.

She pulled him back after a while and rubbed the tears away from his eyes only for them to be replaced when he blinked. "Now go, be brave." She kissed his forehead. "Don't look back." She told him. "Don't look back," she repeated, and Anakin nodded, taking the outstretched hand of the older Jedi.

The memories ebb and flow through the Force like a tide.

There are nights where he can silently meditate, free from the reminders of his past. He hides himself away from his crew, closes his eyes, and disappears into the Force through an almost sleep. His mind remains mostly blank and free of the emotion that drives him. In this state, he isn't Lord Vader, he isn't Anakin Skywalker, he isn't the Chosen One, he simply is. He's human. He feels his scarred and damaged lungs inhale and exhale his breaths with the help of his armor's life support systems. Sometimes when he concentrates he can feel the slight twinges of pain coming from limbs lost long ago.

It's the times he remembers that he detests. He remembers the time he used to fear death, rather than embrace it.

He dreams that he's a general again, standing on his legendary flagship the _Resolute_ and that he is racked with the fear and anxiety that comes before a battle.

His mind is enemy. His mind reminds him about the possibility that he might not return, that he might lose his master, his apprentice, his men… the constant mental noise that death is always possible, always lurking behind a corner just waiting for him drives him nearly mad. He crosses his arms over his chest to hide the fact that his hands are shaking.

"Ready?" A voice asks him from behind and he doesn't even need to turn back to know who it is. He shrugs. The man behind him steps closer and places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently to reassure him.

Anakin finally turns to face his master and hopes that his appearance isn't reflecting the anxiety and exhaustion that he feels deep in his bones. He gives a small smile in case his body is betraying him, "Yeah." He legs his arms fall to his side and follows his master to the hangar. The whole walk it feels like he's forgetting something, or rather someone important. A feeling that he's felt every day for a long while now.

His master gracefully gets into his emerald starfighter, a gift that had been given to him by the missing and at times forgotten member of their team. Anakin wanders over to the ship and leans in on it, placing his foot on the side and leaning in.

"I made some changes." He starts. "I fixed the handling and your communications, I also updated most of the computer systems." He explains, watching as his master fidgets with the switches and tests the steering column.

His master rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat. He always pretends to be fed up with the many changes and adaptations, but they both know it's all for show. "Why don't you put this much care into your own ships?" The old man says with a tender laugh.

The words shatter his memories, his thoughts, and the image of the man that he loved, that loved him. He opens his eyes to the red filters, slightly taken back by the desaturated view and absent colors. He suddenly realizes why he hadn't agonized over his own ships nearly as much as those of his companions.

His own life, his own death, neither one of those mattered, even back then.

He sits up in his blank, cold meditation chamber and settles back into a slight trance, racking his memories for the last time he cared about his own life, what had taken his self-preservation away from him?

The Jedi.

He feels his fingers crack and the circuits whirl unhappily as he snaps them in rage.

The cold Coruscant night air blowing through his long hair and his cloak as the sounds of the 501st marched behind him up the pristine stairs of the Jedi Temple. He can remember the fear crawling into his being through the Force, and the heat of his anger fueling his body. He can remember their screams, the terror in their eyes, the heat of the blade in his hand.

The Jedi had turned him into a slave. They had taught him that he was replaceable, that the Force replaced them all when they died, that it was endless, there was no avoiding it. They had taught him to remove what made him human, what made him feel, to throw it into the Force and expect nothing in return. They had sent him on missions that risked his life, the lives of his friends, his teachers, his family.

He had been the one to preserve their lives at the cost of his own, and what had they done? But continued to raise children with the same ideals.

He had grown up a slave. He had decided it was better to be dead than a slave.

He could remember the younglings, trembling behind the furniture of one of the learning rooms. They had looked up to him with tears in their eyes, asking him what was happening, what was going to happen next, were they safe?

He had told them, "Yes, you're safe. Safe from them."

He wondered what they saw.

Did they see his eyes? Were they no longer blue? Was his hair blond? Or that dark metallic color? How tall was he? What shade was his skin? Was he a silent killer? Or did he breathe as heavy as he did now? Was the Force with him? Or had it abandoned him?


End file.
